


Swords, Trees, and Princesses

by for_t2



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Babysitting, F/F, Family Shenanigans, Fluffy Ending, Friendship, Gardens & Gardening, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: Geralt just needed a babysitter. It's hardly his fault that Renfri and Ciri turned out to be simultaneously terrible yet amazing influences on each other
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri | Shrike (The Witcher)/Triss Merigold
Comments: 7
Kudos: 216





	Swords, Trees, and Princesses

Geralt of Rivia was a busy man. 

A very busy man, in fact. Between his job as a private detective and his dearly beloved husband’s (not that he’d ever say anything that sappy where anyone else could hear him) nearly continuous world tour, he had very little time for the luxuries in life. He could count on one hand the number of times in the last year he’d been able to take some time off to just go sightseeing, or read a good book, or take a long, hot bath with plenty of… Point is, Geralt was busy, and he knew it. 

Which led to a problem. A big problem. As much as he loved her, and as much as she loved him, as much as they spent every possible second together, it was becoming increasingly unfeasible to drag his adopted daughter with him (or Jaskier) on every mission across the globe. And even if she was already a teenager, there was no way that he was going to just going to leave her by herself, alone to face the innumerably countless and infinite horrors of the world. No way in hell.

Which led to another problem.

A problem which he didn’t quite want to believe.

A problem in which he found himself standing wordlessly in front of his living room. A living room that was absolutely trashed, the two girls in the middle grinning from ear to ear, faces flushed with activity, the swords in their hands crossed in mid-pose. 

A pose frozen by the dawning realisation that he was back. 

“Um, hey.” When he heard that a friend (an ex) was out of prison and having trouble getting her feet back on the ground, he thought he had solved his big problem. Especially since Ciri took an instant liking to Renfri. “There’s some lasagna in the fridge.” And Geralt had to admit that Renfri was a decent cook.   
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that swords were pointy. And dangerous and destructive and… 

“We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow.” Renfri slowly tried to straighten herself up. Casually (she thought) hiding the sword behind her back. “You said it was a difficult job, so…”

“What,” the words came strangled out of Geralt’s throat. “Happened?”

The look that passed between Ciri and Renfri was the most ominious thing he had seen in his life. “Self-defense,” Renfri finally started, “is something that every girl should—”

“We were watching a movie,” Ciri interrupted with her own explanation.

“And physical exercise is also—”

“The Lord of the Rings—”

“The classics are—”

“Renfri wanted to show off her sword collection!” 

Silence. 

Geralt was a man of few words. Usually because he chose not to say anything. But today, of all the things he wanted, he needed to say, the words just didn’t come. 

“Sorry?”

***** 

The first time Jaskier notices one of his guitars missing, he didn’t pay it too much attention. 

After all, things get misplaced sometimes, especially on tours, and, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he thinks he saw his most awesomely awesome husband (something he has no problem loudly declaring in public) cast an eye on it earlier. The thought of Geralt, the guitar on his perfectly chiselled lap, strong fingers gripping it just right and strumming… The thought would make for a good song. 

But when it reappears on top of the fridge, unharmed, Jaskier has a tiny moment of confusion that passes the moment the microwave beeps. When it goes missing again the next day, the moment of confusion deepens. Even more so when it reappears underneath Roach’s litterbox. And when the events start multiplying, all sorts of things going missing (even from his own pocket!) and reappearing, when things go bang and there’s nobody there, the confusion solidifies into certainty. 

The house, their house, their lovely little house, is haunted.

“Please, I’m begging you.” 

“The house is not haunted,” Geralt replies one of the few afternoons they have together, his voice as melodically monotone as ever. 

“it must be!” Jaskier literally goes down on his knees to beg. “It must be…” He can’t stop himself shivering at the thought. “It must be lurking in the shadows of the basement!” 

“It’s not.” 

“Then where else?” It’s not that Jaskier’s afraid of the basement, because that would be ridiculous. It’s just that, if you’re going to marry a veritable dashing knight, with so many muscles in so many of the right places, you might as well take advantage of the perks that come with it. “I’ll write you a song about it.” 

“No.” 

“A good song,” Jaskier tried again, in his most promising voice. “A very good song.” 

“No.” But Jaskier could sense his husband’s resolve wavering.

“Full of tales of your heroic deeds.” Just like most of Jaskier’s song, really. “I’ll even compose it in that Polish chiptune style you love so much.” When Geralt sighed, Jaskier knew he had him. “Please?”

“Fine.” 

And with that, Geralt jumped up, Jaskier sticking as close to his back as he could, and marched down the creaky wooden stairs to the basement. 

“There.” 

“Oh.” It was all rather anti-climatic. Heroic, of course (because his husband always is), but mildly disappointed. It’s not that Jaskier had been expecting to find anything, it’s just that…

“Wait.” 

Jaskier followed intently as Geralt wandered past the shelves stacked with tools. Over the shelves stacked with books. Shelves where a single book was missing.

“Hm.” Jaskier tagged after Geralt as he turned around and marched back up the stairs, intrigued by this tale of mystery and intrigue. 

“Um, darling.” Jaskier tried to tap on his shoulder as Geralt marched into the kitchen. As he stood in front of the most terrifying woman Jaskier’s ever met. Lovely, in her own charming way, and deeply respected by Geralt, but still terrifying. 

“Renfri,” Geralt started as he caught her attention. “Have you been teaching Ciri how to pickpocket?” 

Jaskier noticed her eyes go wide. “Why would I do that?” She replied, eyes going even wider. Jaskier made a mental note to himself to inquire about that – there must be many tales of poor (or fortunate?) souls caught by those soulful dark orbs, trapped in throes of melancholic passion, why, he could already hear the first lines as-- 

“Renfri?” 

“I was just telling her some stories about, you know, some stuff that happened to me, and…” JAskier was barely listening now, head wandered off into the musical clouds. “It was her idea!”

Geralt’s sigh did go marvellously with Jaskier’s humming.

***** 

Geralt was only halfway through his garden when he looked up and saw Ciri holding up a dice. 

“You better not be teaching to gamble,” he shouted out, only half-joking. 

“Don’t worry,” Renfri peered down at him. “I found some old D&D stuff in the basement. Thought she’d like it.” 

Ah yes, the D&D stuff. Geralt has long tried to forget that, even if it was how he and Renfri had met. That night, off on a case in the small town of Blaviken, he had the misfortune of trying to play while extremely distracted (and tired and all that). Even if it wasn’t strictly his fault that all his rolls went right to 1 and the entire party got slaughtered, his reputation had never quite recovered. 

“I do!” Ciri shouted down, and the smile in her voice brought a smile to his. 

“Watch out for manticores,” he shouted back, before resuming his path towards the front…

Hold on. 

He looked back up again. 

Stared at the scene.

He really didn’t want to know why they were playing on the roof. 

***** 

“She’s old enough.” 

“She’s a teenager.” Geralt was tired of this argument. He could appreciate the value of independence, of exploration, and he definitely appreciated how Renfri embodied those values. But sometimes, she just went too far. 

“When I was her age—”

“You shouldn’t have had to go through what you did,” Geralt her off quickly. He was well aware of Renfri’s past, and he was determined to make sure nothing like it ever happened to Ciri. Never.

“But I did!” He practically feel the anger boiling off her, the tenseness in her movements. “And I wouldn’t let it happen to her!” And, sure, part of Geralt knows that, but there’s another that can never be too sure. “It was just a fucking beer.” 

Geralt has no problem with Renfri drinking. It’s her life, and she can do what he wants. Hell, he and Jaskier might even join her for a glass every once in a while. And he knows that she doesn’t need to worry about losing control. “You know what happened to Ciri’s grand—” 

“I would never let it happen to her!” 

“I don’t know that.” It’s interesting how anger can forge a friendship between people. Geralt, for all his stoic calm to Renfri’s passionate outbursts, shared to some degree the same tendency to anger as she did. Her convinced him that sometimes he needed pick sides, and his convinced her that sometimes a side could be good.

“Yes, you do.” 

But anger was always anger. “No, I don’t.” And it was still too easy to let anger take a hold of them. “What’s next?” There was a lot of things he didn’t know. “What about that oath you swore?” The way she went dead stiff should’ve been the signal to stop. There was a reason she had banned herself from using the word 'revenge'. “How do I know you’re not going to drag her off and get her—”

The punch hit his face at full force. “Fuck you.” 

***** 

Geralt usually (secretly) enjoyed being pampered by Jaskier and Ciri, and the alarming quantities of blood that had poured out of his nose were certainly occasion enough, but he wasn’t stupid. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Ciri hesitated before replying. “Don’t fire Renfri.”

“I’m not…” Geralt hadn’t figured it out yet. “I’m still…” Hadn’t even begun to figure it out.

“She’s my friend.”

“I know.”

“She treats me like I’m normal.” 

***** 

“I’m bored.” 

Renfri didn’t disagree, but she had promised to be on her best behaviour. “Oh, come on. Don’t you think this is a really fascinating… tree?” She gestured at the plant in front of them. “I think it’s fascinating.” Her best behaviour, unfortunately, meant sticking to a carefully list of Geralt-approved activities, all of which were carefully designed to be as safe and uneventful as possible. 

“Ugh,” Ciri rolled her eyes beside Renfri before marching off. 

“Or maybe it’s a bush,” Renfri re-examined the plant. She wasn’t sure why she had picked the botanical garden for today, maybe she thought it’d be easy to get lost in, but it was nothing like the forest, nothing like the wild. It was all too orderly. Too prim and proper. “Or maybe—” 

“Right the first time.” 

When Renfri spun around to face that voice, old reflexes took over. “Shit.” She just managed to stop he fist from flying into… “Shit.” The voice came from what had to be one of the most beautiful women she had ever met. 

“Shit?” A woman who barely flinched at the sight of her fist. 

“Um…” A really, really beautiful woman, with gorgeous brown hair, and her eyes and… “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Renfri’s nerves tingled when the woman gently pushed her fist back down. “I’m Triss.” 

“Triss,” Renfri repeated, slightly breathless. “Hey.” She blinked. Straightened herself up. “Hey.” Put on her best confident swagger. “I’m Renfri.” 

“Nice to meet you, Renfri.” And Renfri decided right away that she liked the sound of her name on Triss’s lips. 

“So,” and definitely liked how Triss didn’t back down when she stepped closer. “Tell me more about these trees.” 

***** 

“I’m still bored.”

Ciri’s voice cut through Triss’s lovely monologue about a flower. Renfri’s wasn’t really looking at the flower, but Triss didn’t seem to mind. 

“Can we—”

Renfri grabbed Ciri. Dragged in front of her. “This is Ciri.” She presented the girl to Triss with a pat on the head. “I’m babysitting her.”

“Hey, Ciri,” Triss beamed, and Renfri decided she definitely wanted to see that smile more often.

“Triss,” Ciri grumped back. 

“How are your fathers?” 

“Very well,” Ciri said in her most royal tone (a tone that annoyed Renfri to no end – which Ciri liked to use to great effect). 

“Hold on.” Renfri pointed at both of them. “You two know each other?” 

Ciri snorted. “Triss is one of Geralt’s exes.” And then marched away, leaving the other two alone. 

Renfri took a look at Triss. “You and Geralt…” Triss nodded. “Oh.” She didn’t like the almost wistful look on Triss’s face. “Me too.” 

“No way.”

“Hell yeah,” Renfri smirked. It’s not like she regretted it (especially since it gave her ample opportunity to tease him). “Sometimes I wonder just how many exes he has.” She had tried counting once, but it was turning into a long list, and her attention wandered elsewhere. Like the number of exes she had. 

“I don’t think I want to know.” 

“Anything you do want to know?” 

“Maybe.” Triss smiled again, with a knowing shrug. “But, unfortunately, not right now.” A little jolt of panic stabbed through Renfri at that. “I’ve got tours to run. See you tomorrow?” 

“Hell yeah.” 

***** 

“Just ask her already.” 

“I’m getting there!” 

“I don’t want to come here again.”

“I… Shut up.” The combination of Ciri having an excellent point (this was, after all, the fifth day in a row that Renfri had dragged her to the botanical gardens) and of her not being able to find Triss anywhere among the endless rooms of green plants on top of green plants was making Renfri a little testy. 

“Just be brave and confident and don’t take any shit. Like a princess.” 

“Do I look like a princess?” 

“It’s what my grandmother would’ve done.” 

“Do I look like your grandmother?”

Ciri turned to Renfri, with a perfectly straight face. “She was a lot prettier.” Even if Renfri could find a way to respond that wouldn’t just dig the hole deeper, Ciri spoke again. “So go ask her, or else I will. And she won’t say no to me.”

“You’re a kid!”

“I’m a princess,” and damn if Renfri didn’t believe sometimes. Ciri was one hell of a kid. “Besides, at least I’m smart enough to realise that weekends exist.” 

Renfri tripped over a cactus at that. “Fuck!” Of course. Why it hadn’t occurred to her that Triss would have a day off every once in while was beyond her. Maybe it’s just that Triss looked so good among the plants, the sunlight gleaming in eyes just right, her hands skillfully manipulating the earth like-- 

Ciri sniggered as Renfri tripped over another cactus. “Princesses are supposed to be graceful.” 

In that moment, Renfri could really missed her sword collection. “Why do you want to be a princess anyways?” All the princess stories Renfri could remember inevitably ended up with the princess locked in a tower or chased into the garden gnome section at IKEA or some equally stupid fate. 

“To crush my enemies and to hear their lamentations.” Renfri almost tripped over a third cactus. Not what she was expecting to hear, but… but still totally valid. “Or, at least, that’s what my grandmother used to say.” 

“Sounds like she was pretty cool.” And she does – it’s pretty obvious why Ciri misses her so much. 

“She was,” Ciri nodded in agreement, her mind wandering off into memories, into the all-too familiar pain of loss. “She was,” Ciri repeated, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“You think…” Renfri was probably going to regret this, but what the hell. “You think you could teach me some of this princess shit?” 

“You want to drinks from the skulls of your foes?” Ciri perked back up.

“Maybe I just want to wear pretty dresses.” No, obviously not, but Renfri couldn’t help but picture what Triss would look like in a dress, all green, flowing and… ooh, Renfri was definitely-- 

Ciri burst out laughing when Renfri tripped over a bush.

***** 

“Where’s Ciri?” 

Renfri shrugged. “Geralt’s in town today.” Which meant Renfri had the day off. Which meant, of course, that she set her alarm and immediately headed off to the same place she’s been every day this week.

“And you just really wanted to see me?” 

“Maybe.” Flirting was easy. But taking things a step further, not so easy. Sometimes, Renfri didn’t think she could. Didn’t think that, even if she could, she deserved it. But Jaskier had passed along the address of several good therapists, and well, she was working on it.

“Maybe?” 

“Or maybe…” Renfri’s courage faltered. For a second. “Or maybe I just wanted to ask you something.” 

“You,” and the way Triss put a little emphasis on that word made Renfri feel warm, “can always ask me anything.” 

“So,” Renfri wasn’t going to let her courage falter again. “How would you feel about brunch?”

“Depends who I’m having it with.” 

“Me?”

“I think,” and when Triss took her hand, for all her totally terrifying badassness, Renfri smiled like a dork. “I think that sounds perfect.”


End file.
